


Dew Drops

by LeFay



Category: The Folk of the Air - Holly Black
Genre: F/M, Injury, One Shot, POV Cardan Greenbriar, POV Jude Duarte, Pillow Talk, Post-Book 3: The Queen of Nothing, Skinny Dipping, Sleeping Beauty Elements, Swimming, Why aren't you asleep?, free falling, missing letters, tail, water sports, you missed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:34:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22293400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeFay/pseuds/LeFay
Summary: Between the lines and off the page: random one-shots based on implied or missing scenes from the books - or just scenes that I made up.
Relationships: Jude Duarte/Cardan Greenbriar
Comments: 30
Kudos: 362





	1. The Missing Letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter will have it's own spoiler warnings.
> 
> Chapter 1: The Missing Letters: follows the book canon, mild QoN spoilers

I wake up in the middle of the morning. The thick curtains have been pulled across the windows and the room is dark. I forgot how dark everything is in faerie. It’s really only the colors of the fae themselves that add any light. 

I’m lying on my side. My leg is hitched up around Cardan’s hip, his hand resting on my thigh. We’re flush against each other and my head is resting in the nook of his shoulder while his hand cradles the back of my head. He says I move to wrap myself around him in my sleep, although I suspect it’s the reverse. I’ve always been a light sleeper and he’s the one with a tendency to slither and twist his body.

Still, I find I don’t mind it, if I’m honest with myself. His body is warm, much warmer than mine and I’m glad the sheet has fallen to expose my back. With my arms crossed and trapped between our chests I’m in an entirely vulnerable position. Accessing any of my concealed weapons right now would be difficult, should the need arise. It’s an alarming predicament to find myself in once again.

And yet I have found something peaceful in these moments, waking with him at my side. I didn’t expect to like companionship. Even after I was able to confess my feelings to Cardan, I didn’t think it would be quite so easy to fit together as well as we have. Not that everything has been easy, far from it. But there’s a strange sense of comfort that I hadn’t known before, which comes when he sends me a quick glance across the table at a council meeting, or when we fall into bed together after a long night of courtly duties.

And by fall into bed together, I mean literally falling into bed, exhausted. The first few nights, after Cardan’s return to faerie form, we would come back to his rooms and discuss different conversations we’d had with other fae. I wanted to know every detail of his dialogue with other leaders, to be sure we were playing our cards right. Then, after an hour or more of adjusting or rewriting plans based on any new knowledge, it was far simpler to peel off my formal outer layers and collapse on the nearest bed, which happens to be Cardan’s. 

Now, nearly a month after the sleighing of the serpent and rebuilding of the thrones, it seems that our late night habits have become routine. I still keep my own chambers and spend much of the waking hours there, reviewing notes from the Court of Shadows and discussing events with my growing retinue of knights. But I always find myself here, with Cardan as the sun begins to rise. And there are some nights when we’re not too exhausted, some evenings when we stay up for hours, far into dawn, doing things that have nothing to do with espionage or power plays or strategy. Or everything to do with them, I suppose.

Images from last night flash through my mind. We’d done a few things that were new for me, positions we’d never tried before. It seems silly to be amazed at the abilities of my own body – I’ve been pushing myself beyond normal physical limits for years. But having sex with Cardan seems to require different muscles, new rhythms, and of course new risks.

Blissfully, these new challenges come with rewards, physical and mental. The physical pleasures are perhaps more enticing than I care to admit. I hate the way I squirm for him to be closer or faster or harder. I can’t stand the moans that sometimes escape my lips when his lips are pressing on other places. I hate the sound of his name as I scream it, or whisper it in short breathy gasps. I hate it all and I love it.

I can still feel the sticky residue between my thighs. There’s a certain pleasure to that, too, the dirtiness of the act. At times it feels feral and base, like the most natural form of being human - scratching at the carpet, his back, the headboard above me. But despite the instincts that take over me, I feel less and less human every time we do this. Being with Cardan makes me feel like something more. Not faerie, per say, but something more than I thought I was. And I’m still coming to terms with what that means.

“Are you plotting a murder or the next faerie war?” I’m shocked out of my thoughts as he whispers above me. I haven’t made a sound.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” I say, moving to roll away but his grip tightens on my thigh. 

He chuckles, “You’re thinking so loudly I’m sure half the castle is rousing.” 

I poke at his ribs in mock offense. His hand cards my hair to soothe me. For a few moments we lay like this, entangled in his giant bed in a dark room. There’s a smell of night lilies blooming somewhere above us. I haven’t yet learned how to manipulate plants but Cardan seems to do it subconsciously. 

“Can I assist in your machinations?” he asks, letting his lower hand rest on my hip. It’s not truly an offer of support; he’s asking to know what’s woken in me the middle of our sleep. He thinks I’m worried or bothered by something but knows better than to inquire outright. Like all fae, he is smooth with his words and quickly learning better ways to illicit truth in mine.

I have no way to verbalize my actual thoughts of the moment. Perhaps that’s why I’m so often pulled from sleep to ruminate quietly alone. I’m not ready to share my internal musings with him yet. But there is a peaceful openness to the air around us now, a quiet, safe space for some emotional vulnerability, although it won’t be from me this morning.

I volley the risk back to him. “What did you write in your letters?”

The fingers running through my hair pause. I feel him take in a breath. For a moment I wonder if he's going to keep his written words a secret, lost forever thanks to the jealously of Lady Asha. I am surprised by how much I hate the thought of never knowing what he wrote to me. I tap my fingers lightly against his chest, to let him know that I'm waiting. Finally he gives a soft chuckle. I smile. 

"Well, I believe I started with assuring you that all was settled with the Undersea," his fingers leave my hair and trace the curve of my ear. "I had thought you were merely being cautious, unlikely for you, I admit. But at the time I was so sure you had understood the trick in my words."

I make a quiet sound of disapproval. This "trickery" of which he was so proud, is still a sore spot for me. "How very pragmatic of you," I say. 

"I thought so, too," he concurs. The hand on my thigh begins to move up and down, curving slightly towards the soft inner skin. "But then I heard no response. I must admit I was a little put out. I may have made some disparaging remarks about the human lands. Then I believe I urged you to be angry at me from a nearer -" he stops short and slides his hand right up to the apex of my thighs, "distance," he finishes. I gasp. 

Then I bite my lip. I will not let him make further mockery of my very botched exile. I push against his chest, making enough space between us so I can stay his hand. "I was you know, very angry with you." He wiggles the fingers of the hand I have trapped. "Vivi and I use to wait until Oak was asleep, then stay up late plotting different ways of assassinating you."

The hand that had been on my ear comes down to trace a barely-there curve along my throat with one finger. "Which was your favorite method?" He grins. 

Exasperated, I toss his hand away and roll over onto my back, no longer looking at him. I know it's silly now to spend any time or energy over lost letters. Those words make no difference now. It's more his flippant attitude at the whole ordeal. I still don't think he understands how awful those months were for me. I frown again at the thought that while I was threatening and fighting exiled fae in Ironside, he was lounging around in a palace happily waited upon. 

He's lounging now on his back beside me and grinning at my reaction, the sheet pulled down to just above his hip bones. "Let's see, what did I write after that?" He runs a hand through his hair and then sneakily tries to reach out and tickle me with the same movement. I swat him away again. "Ah, yes, I believe it was in the next letter that I officially pardoned you. Explicitly, in no uncertain terms. I was so sure you'd be back after that one," I can feel him looking at me now.

I try to fight his pull but my resolve is weak. If he did pardon me, officially, months before I returned to Elfhame in my weak disguise as Taryn, then it truly was nothing more than a false claim. Once again, I marvel at my own stupidity. Even when I was back in Elfhame, when I was sneaking around Madoc's camp, I was still trying to think of ways to force Cardan to pardon me. How stupid I must have sounded to him. I close my eyes against the humiliation that didn't even come to pass. When I open my eyes again, I find that Cardan has silently rolled onto his side, his head propped up on one hand. 

"I may have even begged a little in that one," he quietly adds, looking down at the stitching on the bedspread. I can't imagine Cardan begging, but it's at least a slightly humorous thought. I lift one hand and cup his cheek. 

"I assume in the next one you moved onto groveling," I try to prevent it but the sarcasm creeps into my voice. 

He frowns, "No, I believe the following note was but a short bit of angst against being ignored, which I assumed to be petulance on your part." At this I laugh. Of course he would think that, believing I was in on his trick. Thinking of him sitting at a desk and forcing a pen to paper as he grits his teeth in anger is probably more comical than it should be. I lean up to peck him lightly on his cheek. 

"My poor, spurned King, how terrible it must have been for you," I mock. 

He lifts his head and grabs my hand, placing it against chest in a very intimate gesture. And suddenly it's too much for me. I don't want this to be serious. It's easier to move past my anger, my hurt, when this is all a game - when this exile is nothing more than a stupidly executed misunderstanding. I open my mouth to tell him I've heard enough and all is forgiven, but he curls around me once again and rises so his body is above mine. For some reason I keep my hand where he placed it, over his heart. 

"The next letter was the longest," he continues. "I remember this one because as I was writing it, it was the first time I thought that you might truly not come back," he's looking me straight in the eyes now. I have to remember to breathe. 

"I was so afraid, Jude," he whispers. "So afraid that you would never return. I started thinking of all the wretched boring work I would have to do alone, the decisions I had no idea how to make, the risks and loss I might face as a solitary ruler. I confess, even in the mere hours we spent just before I announced the exile, I had imagined a different way of ruling. A way _with you_. And I thought, however briefly, that with you, I might even find a way to be good at it. To be a good king. But I knew I would be helpless without you. I knew I would fail, but I did not know how long. And as I stared at a blank page I found myself staring down what could be a very long eternity of misery and loneliness." 

By the end of his speech his forehead is leaning against mine. “The worst part was not knowing if I would ever see you again.”

His eyes are closed and I can just nearly feel the brush of his long lashes on my cheek. "It was awful," I think he says, but his voice is so soft I can't be sure. Then he's kissing me. Kissing me deeply but softly, his tail wrapping around my calf possessively. I bring both hands up to cup his face. After a moment he pulls back and settles himself with his elbows on either side of my head. 

"I might have put that all down on paper but by some miracle I decided my last words to you couldn't be that of a fearful King. I came to the conclusion that if you had decided to stay in the mortal realm, it was because you would rather live your life there than come back to the wickedness that is faerie. Somehow, I found the courage then to respect your wishes," he pauses. "And yet, I couldn't keep myself from signing off with one last selfish statement."

"What was that?" I ask, thoroughly lost in his eyes.

"I told you I loved you," and he grins like a devil. I thump him across the back. 

"You wrote that in a letter before you said it to my face!" I exclaim. 

"I don't think I wrote it verbatim," he reasons with a laugh, "I was poetic, of course."

I snort and then lean up to kiss him. He kisses me back and lets his body fall against mine as his hands cup my head. He's not a large man but he still feels heavy on top of me. Still, I can take the weight of his body better than I can take the weight of his words. Or perhaps, with one I can manage the other. 

After a long moment he raises his head for air. "And then of course there was the final letter, but it's hardly original at this point."

"Another one?" I ask. "I thought you said your last selfish words to me were a declaration of your love." I smile at the absurdity of exiles and poetry and kings writing tearful letters. 

He begins to position himself over me, bearing his own weight so he can lean down and whisper in my ear. "Last words, yes. But the final letter was composed of only one word." He kisses my ear. "Well," another kiss on my jaw, "one word repeated several dozen times." A kiss on my throat. 

I take a deep breath and close my eyes. "What word is that?"

He responds with a kiss on my collarbone. "Jude." A kiss at the top of my breast. 

"Yes I know my name, what was the final word that you filled an entire page with?" I'm imaging an insult of some kind but I think we've moved beyond that now. 

A kiss on my shoulder. "Jude." A kiss on the side of my breast. "Jude." A kiss on my navel. "Jude." A kiss over my heart. I smile as I understand. 

"Jude."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's not the start of my story based on Mad Girl's Love Song. I'm not sure if I'll ever get around to that. But this short little one-shot was easy to write. Perhaps there will be a few more.  
> Please review :)


	2. The Velvet Jacket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This scene comes from this line at the beginning of Chapter 17: “Cardan stands over me. His jacket is thrown on a nearby chair, the velvet soaked through with some dark substance.” > I see you, velvet jacket. I know how you got that dark substance.
> 
> Unlike the last chapter, this one didn't write itself. It's still not quite what I planned, but I wanted to share it anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter will have it's own spoiler warnings.
> 
> Chapter 2: The Velvet Jacket: Follows book cannon, spoilers up until Chapter 17 QoN

Out of the corner of his eye he sees the Bomb raise her crossbow. She is pointing the knocked arrow up at the rafters. He follows her line of sight, wine forgotten in the goblet in his hand. The arrow makes a sharp sound as it cuts through the air and just as it is lost to the darkness of the shadows above, a body falls from the ceiling and comes crashing down onto a banquet table below. A few fey scream and the music stutters.

Cardan stops breathing. The body is motionless on the flattened table. From that height, with that landing… she wasn’t even trying to protect herself. He is frightened – terrified – his throat closing on fear he has never felt before. The crowd rushes to gather around the fallen intruder.

For a second, he tries to tell himself it wasn’t her. Rather, some other female-shaped fool with poor balance who likes tumbling. Perhaps there really is an assassin making an attempt on his life this evening. But his futile hopes are crushed when someone from the crowd calls out, “Jude Duarte”.

The titters start like ripples, the murmurs gaining volume. He forces himself to walk elegantly across the floor, acting the part, playing the role. It’s possible that her life depends on it. Jude has taken them too far off script already. The guards part to let him closer. His eyes sweep over her battered body.

She looks up at him, “I lost your cloak,” she croaks. Her eyes close.

And he has never been so angry. Livid. There is a moment when he has to tamp down a vocal manifestation of his own rage. She said she would go straight to her sisters. She was to leave Madoc’s camp, leave any potential danger behind and ride back to Elfhame in the care of Vivi and Taryn. Of course a mortal’s words are worthless. Of course she managed to get into the worst form of trouble between the smith’s forge and Vivi’s hideout. He should have thrown her on a ragwort steed himself - as if he had a chance at that.

He peers down at her. “You’re a liar,” he says, eyes glittering with fury. “A dirty, mortal liar.”

Cardan looks down at the bloody, messy heap that is Jude Duarte, lying on the remains of a shattered table covered in glass shards and squished pomegranates. Her eyelids are shut but her chest moves with labored breathing. There is blood seeping through her clothes and spreading on the tablecloth. He wonders how much blood mortals possess – and how much they can live without.

“Clap her in chains,” Randalin’s voice calls out, annoying as ever. The command shakes him out of his thoughts and he notices Jude going paler by the second. He looks up to a sea of curious eyes of all sorts and colors. The guards haven’t moved, knowing that Randalin doesn’t give the orders here - the king does.

“Do not touch her,” Cardan says. The crowd instantly stills, the music stops, the entire high court of Elfhame is frozen before him, waiting for his response. Cardan knows he has to be careful, has to maintain his typical level of disinterest. He cannot let the folk see the fear creeping up his spine as he gazes down at Jude.

And he realizes in that moment that he will have to make a choice. As far as the court believes, Jude Duarte is persona non grata in Elfhame. If Jude wasn’t able to pickup on the riddle in his words, he can doubt that anyone else did. As always, the sprites and goblins and gremlins of his gentry are expecting blood. He can almost see them salivating at the thought of such a spectacle. He is simultaneously disgusted by his kinfolk and at himself for the role he plays in encouraging them.

Fortunately, causing a scene is one thing he knows how to do very, very well. He stands up straighter and raises his voice.

_Gods damn it, Jude._

“She is my wife,” Cardan says, his voice carrying over the crowd. “The rightful High Queen of Elfhame. And most definitely not in exile.” He stresses the last part, enunciating clearly. Jude better have heard that because he is tired of her obtuseness. Let this be the clear and public pardon she so desperately tried to wager out of him. Enough tricks.

Like well-trained dogs the audience barks and roars in shock and delight. Some are stamping their feet on the earthen floor and others have tossed the pomegranates into the air. Randalin’s eyes nearly roll backwards in his head. The guards surrounding Jude take a step back, unsure of their role with this new information. For some bizarre reason, the Bomb, standing beside him, is laughing.

Amidst all the cacophony, Jude’s body goes rigid and then falls limp. Cardan’s breath catches in his throat. She has passed out. Some folk are pouring fresh drinks, toasting to the new Queen in salacious words that he hopes Jude cannot hear. The other members of the living council are slowly pushing to the front of the throng. He must get her out of here, away from the eyes and the daggers and the inquisition that is sure to come. More importantly, she clearly needs medical care. And for once Jude is immobilized, mute, and in a no way able to deny help.

“Liliver,” he says without breaking his gaze from Jude’s defenseless form. “Go get your healing supplies and meet me in my chambers. Quickly.”

And then the High King of Elfhame bends down, sliding an arm under Jude’s knees and the other behind her neck. He lifts up the unconscious body of his Queen, holding her tightly, and carries her out of the brugh.

*

Cardan is surprised by how heavy she feels. Although he would never have described Jude as tiny or frail, her body is dense and stiff with muscle, even in its present state. He tries not to look down at her face, caked with dirt in parts and speckled with her own blood. She has horribly smudged makeup lining her eyes and an odd scarf tied around her middle.

He is gentle with her, carrying her carefully, knowing that her body is wounded and not knowing which parts are the most critical. If she bleeds out in his arms, this will be the closest they have been in months – and the closest they will ever be. He walks faster.

Already he can feel dampness seeping through his velvet jacket where he holds her tucked against his chest. She appears to have a large wound somewhere on her lower torso. The extent of her injuries is made clear after he kicks open his chamber doors and lays her carefully on his bed, not caring to remove the costly silk duvets and furs. Oddly he notices a faint smell of earth mixed with the iron tang of mortal blood. He steps back from the bed hurriedly.

He looks down at this sleeping – _she better be just sleeping_ – girl, this nemesis and rival that has both enchanted and ensnarled him for so long. For the first time since Madoc stole her away from the castle, he is alone with Jude. But this time has none of the electricity or faint or suggestiveness of their previous rendezvous in the royal chambers. This time he is terrified that any minute longer could be Jude’s last. It has been a while since he felt so hopelessly useless.

He is just about to send guards searching for the nearest healer when the Bomb comes running in. She has a satchel slung over shoulder and she carries a woven basket that jingles as if filled with glass. She places it on the bedside table and discards the lid, pulling out a series of tiny glass vials.

“Has she been poisoned?” the Bomb asks, dampening a cloth with the liquid in one of her vials. He wishes she would move faster.

“It appears not,” he offers, with no certainty. Jude very well could have been poisoned and stabbed, hardly unlikely given her typical activities. He peels off his jacket as the room gets hotter, or perhaps it is his own nervousness that causes him to feel too warm. The thick velvet, sticky with her blood, comes away from his shirt wet and heavy. He throws it over a nearby chair.

The Bomb calmly – too calmly – assesses her patient, pulling back Jude’s eyelids and searching her neck for a pulse. Then she slips a knife from her sleeve and slices Jude’s tunic straight up the middle, cutting through the makeshift tourniquet and giving her full access to the wound. Cardan looks to the floor, away from both the sight and her near nakedness and all the emotions crowding his mind.

He is fortunately distracted by a clamor from the guards just outside the door as Vivi and Taryn push into the room. Vivi shouts as two guards try to pull her back into the hallway. Taryn struggles to see around the commotion, “Jude!” she cries when she catches sight of her sister on the bed.

Cardan raises a hand to signal that they are free to enter. “Bar the doors,” he commands, “do not let anyone else inside.” One guard drops Vivi unceremoniously on the floor and the retinue retreats, shutting the doors. Taryn gasps and rushes to Jude’s bedside. Both sisters have clearly just arrived back at the palace. They are wearing traveling cloaks and smell of horses.

Cardan moves further away from the bed, watching as Jude’s closest allies gather around her. He wants to step forward, into their circle, but he cannot.

“She was run through with a sword,” Taryn explains, “but she insisted on returning immediately to the palace.”

“Whose sword?” the Bomb asks and she bends over Taryn to run a rag damp with some oil across Jude’s forehead.

“Madoc’s,” Vivi says, her voice low with anger. He looks up sharply, meeting her gaze. He is not a swordsman but he can tell that this wound was meant to be a killing blow. Although Cardan has none of the history with Madoc that any of the women in this room possess, he sees the general’s actions for what they are: a father betraying his daughter in the most absolute way. Madoc has truly turned against them all.

“Who stitched the wound?” The Bomb asks as she dabs at the site with a different cloth covered in a foaming poultice.

“I did,” Taryn tells her. She is perched on the side of the bed, gently stroking her sister’s hand. He sees that even Jude’s hands are mottled with blood.

“Why is she unconscious?” Vivi demands, rounding on Cardan with a glare that does nothing but anger him further.

“She fell from the rafters,” he says tonelessly. “How did Madoc come upon her unarmed?” He had left Vivi with a bow and loaded quiver. Taryn had Jude’s sword. Between the two of them they should have been able to offer some form of defense.

“Great question, your highness,” her voice is acidic and he does not like it. “You were supposed to rouse her at the camp so she could come back with us to Elfhame.”

He raises an irritated eyebrow at her tone. “I did rouse her. She insisted on a side journey and we were discovered. She refused to depart without notifying you first.” He doesn’t owe Vivi the whole story and he doesn’t care to retell it now. “She was hale and whole when we separated. How did she come to be nearly gutted? The Roach left you armed.” His voice rises with the accusation.

“Excuse me?” Vivi shouts and steps closer, “Who is it that let my sister get abducted by our – ” he is just about to rise to her challenging tone, all too glad to have a conscious Duarte to lash out against, when Taryn interrupts them.

“She’s waking up,” Taryn calls out unsteadily. Cardan tears his gaze away from Vivi’s, the fiery anger freezing as Jude makes a small, struggling sound. Taryn stands up and the Bomb takes a step back, pausing in her ministrations. Jude’s head lolls slowly and her eyelids flutter. Everyone is silent, but she does not wake.

“Better to have her sleep,” the Bomb suggests quietly, “her body needs time to heal, and we all know Jude isn’t going to give it time, let alone sit still, if she wakes.”

“What are you suggesting we do?” Vivi asks, turning away from Cardan. “Drug her into oblivion?”

The Bomb tilts her head as if to say yes, then reaches for a small bottle in her basket of supplies. “This will lull her back to slumber for half a day at a time. Just a few drops and her muscles can rest, the wound can heal, and she’ll probably get more sleep than she’s had in who knows how long.” Taryn frowns and Vivi stands with her hands on her hips as the Bomb uncorks the vial.

Cardan grimaces at the idea of forcing Jude to surrender control. That was a game they stopped playing long ago, at least he did. He watches quietly as she shifts, restless in her sleep and he hears her whimper again. He realizes that she is in pain.

“No, ” Vivi suddenly snatches the bottle, “she isn’t safe here. We should take her back to the mortal realm.”

For Cardan, that is the last bit of impertinence he will suffer. “For the love of earth and air,” he spits out, “Jude is in the most impenetrable room of the most guarded palace in all of Faerie. As I have explained to both of you in no uncertain terms, her exile is lifted, there is no punishment to be laid, and she will have access to the best healers and constant observation while she convalesces, here, in her home.”

All eyes stare at him, some questioning, some confused. No one challenges his words.

Finally, Vivi glances down at the bottle. “Jude won’t like it,” she says quietly, stating what they all know. But in their silence they all agree. Still, there is the matter of who exactly will be the one to put Jude to sleep against her will. The Bomb makes no move to retrieve the bottle, although Vivi holds it limply in her hand. Taryn’s gaze passes between them. He steps forward.

“I will do it,” and Cardan takes the bottle from Vivi’s hand, meeting no protest. Then he kneels beside the bed and cradles Jude’s head, lifting her slightly. Once more she makes that troubling noise, that horrible sound that he hates and hopes to never hear again.

“Hush now,” he whispers quietly, willing her to hear him and return to a peaceful slumber. Moving his free hand, he uses one little finger to part her lips. With measured care he tips two drops of the honey-colored liquid into her mouth and waits a moment for the draught to be absorbed. Then he gently lowers her head to rest. This time he does not rise from the bedside.

Everyone is still for several breaths. Taryn puts her arm around Vivi as they both look down at their sleeping sister.

After a long moment Vivi asks, “Where are Oak and Heather?”

“I believe there was a pink-haired mortal in the library,” the Bomb supplies.

“Go,” Cardan says from his kneeling position, “I will stay with her.”

From behind him, he hears Vivi begin to protest, but Taryn must signal to silence her. He hears both sisters leave the chambers. “Bomb,” he calls, “bring a cloth with warm water.”

She returns quickly with the requested supplies. “I must go check on the Roach,” her excuse is simple and he is grateful for it. He nods. And then he is alone again with his Queen, who is sleeping much like the princesses of the fairytales she scorns. He watches her lungs fill and her chest rise as she breathes, once, twice, a third time.

Then he stands, rolls up his sleeves, and begins washing the blood off her hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review! :)


	3. Under the Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wow, what a ride this was! This started as a short one-shot centered on the “your ex-girl friends” conversation, which is one I think Cardan and Jude need to have. But the minute I got them talking these two had so much to say and there were so many more places I could take this story. It really reminded me of how rarely Cardan and Jude have honest, full conversations over the course of the three books. They have so much more to learn about each other. 
> 
> …Good thing Cardan is an excellent swimming instructor ;)
> 
> So yes, this is way too long. If I was a better writer I would have cut half of this, but I’m not so I didn’t. 
> 
> Also: Here there be tail. Tbh, the tail doesn’t really do it for me, but I know a lot of ppl love that hairy thing, so I included it in this….tale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter will have it's own spoiler warnings.
> 
> Chapter 3: This chapter is a future scene. Spoilers all the way through the series. Please note, this chapter is Explicit.

Cardan takes another sip of wine before reciting the final line, “And then they made me their chief.” Across the table, Nicasia bursts out laughing and slams her palm loud enough to rattle the nearby dishes. She’s had her fair share of wine, although she still manages to clutch her glass safely in one hand while covering her mouth with the other. Cardan is chuckling openly, tilting his head and gesturing with his arms to accent his delivery. He’s always been one for theatrics. 

I laugh, too, not quite as freely but loud enough for Cardan to find my eyes and smile. I’ve heard him tell this joke before. He’s recounting one of his favorite scenes from a movie that he watched with Oak when we visited the mortal realm last month. I wouldn’t have pegged Cardan to be a pirate fanatic. I suspect the eyeliner on one of the male leads had a strong influence.

A knock sounds on the door and a guard shuffles inside. “Your Majesties, Lady Nicasia, the Undersea escort has arrived and is waiting at the shore.” The guard bows and returns to the hallway.

Nicasia reigns in her laughs and, with the carefully trained grace of a princess, she tilts her glass back to empty the contents. “Well,” she says with a toss of her hair, “I suppose I must be going. We’re all settled on the final details of your royal visit?”

“Yes,” I reply, “on the third day of the new moon the High King and Queen of Elfhame shall make a state visit to the realm of the Undersea, to congratulate Queen Orlag on her full recovery.” It was as we agreed. The smaller details would be hashed out among the ambassadors, with final approval after my scrutiny, of course.

“Perfect,” Nicasia smiles and stands, “I assure you the Undersea will extend the greatest of all welcomes, with a celebration fit for a King,” she turns to go but then looks up at Cardan’s not-so-subtle clearing of the throat, “and Queen, of course,” Nicasia looks contrite and mindful of the slip-up. I bite my tongue and refrain from bringing up the previous welcome I received in the Undersea. We all know there is nothing to gain by reliving past events. Let Nicasia and her minions trip over themselves as they make up for my former mistreatment. I’ll watch.

Cardan walks behind me to pull out my chair and I roll my eyes at him. It’s a little game he plays sometimes, being overly chivalrous. When I stand, I lay my hand on his where it rests on the back of the chair. He smirks and inclines his head slightly in a bow, looking up at me through his eyelashes. He catches me in his stare and I’m only free when Nicasia coughs. I turn to see her looking a bit embarrassed by our flirting. 

“I will take my leave now,” she gathers her voluminous skirts about her. The gown she is wearing ripples and rolls like the waves on the shore. From her waistline, long tendrils of twisted silk hang down to the floor, swaying as she moves. It’s a beautiful dress and compliments her well. I told her as much when she first arrived for our meal. She thanked me and I found it didn’t hurt me to be honest or kind.

“Let us accompany you to the beach,” Cardan suggests offering me one arm and cradling a bottle of wine in the other. 

“Yes, let’s,” I say gamely and hook my arm through his. We follow Nicasia out of the rooms and down the hallway that leads to the exit closest to the water. Along the way she gossips about random courtiers that I have not bothered to commit to memory. I’m sure if any of them are significant Cardan will know. He’s better at keeping up with the personal details of the gentry. After some work, we’ve finally reached a point where I can trust him to manage most of the social stress within Elfhame, while I focus on the issues between and among the other courts. Surprisingly, our system works well.

We’ve made it to the beach and Nicasia bends daintily to remove her shoes before stepping onto the sand. She turns against the wind and whips the train of her dress out behind her. I notice that pieces of her gown seem to be unrolling, stretching out like the tentacles of a deep sea creature, reaching for the water. Beyond the crest of the waves, I see the heads of several merfolk and a few dorsal fins waiting for her. 

“Safe travels home, Nicasia,” Cardan says, “and please give our tidings to your mother. We are most pleased to know she is whole and healthy once again.” 

“I will,” Nicasia assures him. “I don’t know what I would have done, had she not survived,” she glances down then back out at the sea, emotion in her eyes. Cardan and I remain neutral. Mothers are complicated for us.

“Thank you for a lovely, evening,” she says, bowing slightly. “It was good to see you again, both of you.” She meets my gaze and smiles. I smile back. Then Cardan and I watch as Nicasia turns and walks into the water, wading out to waist-height before jumping and diving beneath the waves. She does not resurface and I see her guards submerge in the distance.

“I thought she’d grow a tail,” I can’t stop the small joke from escaping my lips. Cardan barks out a laugh and pulls me closer to this side. I raise my eyes to the horizon where the water meets the sky. The sun has not yet risen although streaks of dawn are slowly stretching into focus. The pale yellowness coming from the east is an uncommon sight in the nocturnal world of faerie. Cardan puts an arm around my shoulders. “Walk with me?” he says. I nod and let him lead me along the beach.

“Dare I say it,” he begins, “but this evening was nearly cordial.”

I raise my eyebrows at him, wondering just how far my husband is about to go with his assessment of my role as a hostess. He catches my look and dips his head. We continue walking and I think he’s moved on from that topic. But Cardan can’t seem to shake the itch. He continues with, “You and Nicasia got along well.”

I let out a small chuckle at his tiptoeing around words. Yes, it’s true, Nicasia and I got through an entire dinner without a single threat and only one or two veiled criticisms. What’s more, I had invited her to dine privately with us in our chambers, instead of going through the motions of a more formal state dinner with other members of the court. She even agreed to come alone and left her prattling ladies in waiting behind.

I playfully push him aside as we split to walk around a piece of driftwood. He reaches out again for my hand and I accept, but I can see him assessing me from the corner of his eye. “Of course we got along,” I smile too large and too brightly. “Nicasia and I are friends now.”

“Since when?” he asks, and he doesn’t even try to hide the surprise in his voice. His pace slows and do I sense a slight tone of…fear? He starts swinging the wine bottle in his opposite hand and pulls me in closer with the other. 

“We had a rather enlightening conversation several months ago,” I inform him as though this information is simply a small side note. “When you were a serpent.”

“Oh?” and now his trepidation is plain, as well as his shock. He stands frozen beside me, his mouth hanging open comically. I lean against him and reach up, using one finger to raise his chin and bring his lips together. I smirk and spin out of his hold, dancing ahead of him on the sand. He waits a beat, watching me, and then follows, uncorking the bottle.

“What did you talk about?” he raises his voice to be heard over the rush of the waves, which have gotten stronger as we get closer to the start of a small cove. He lifts the bottle by the neck and takes a hearty gulp. Still several paces ahead, I glance at him over my shoulder and realize that Cardan is visibly uncomfortable.

“Are you nervous?” I ask, just to be sure. I had no idea that Nicasia could still have such an effect on him. I’m not sure what to think about that. I wait for him to catch up to me and hold out my hand for the bottle, which he relinquishes slowly. I grip it tightly and take a small sip. I might need this more than him. Why is he so bothered by this? Does Nicasia still have an effect on him?

Cardan sits down on the sand at my feet, spreading his legs comfortably and leaning against my calf. “Not nervous per say,” he begins. He taps his fingers against my foot, glancing at the sea. Finally he looks up at me, starts to speak, then turns back to the water. I frown. He’s being distant. Why? “You and Nicasia do not exactly have a history of friendship. Is this the calm before a storm?”

Relieved, I let out a breath because I know it’s not that. And I know we’re not worrying about the same things. Which means I shouldn’t worry at all - I think. I nudge his shoulder with the bottle so he takes it back before I lower myself down to the sand beside him. It’s true that Nicasia and I have a long history, one that is certainly not filled with rainbows or good intentions. She tormented me for so long and she clearly took pleasure in seeing me suffer. Some of it, though, was a response to her own pain. 

“I think…” I begin, not sure how to put it into words. I don’t think Nicasia and I will ever be close friends. I can’t imagine telling her personal secrets or asking her to braid my hair. But months ago when it seemed like my world was ending and Cardan was lost forever, when I asked for her help, she came. She may not have had much assistance to offer but she listened. She kept our tenuous political alliance and rallied in Cardan’s defense. She may not be a friend but she could be an ally. We don't have to hate one another.

“We understand each other,” I tell him. And I believe it. She accepted my position as queen and further acknowledged Cardan’s love for me. We know where the other stands. 

Cardan nods and takes another swallow of wine. He’s still on edge, an odd state to see him in. Is he worried that Nicasia told me something he’d rather I not know? Are there more secrets he doesn’t want shared? Secrets between him and her? I recall the conversation I had with Nicasia months ago, after I sent my message to her through the sea. 

“She told me about a certain dress…” I say, thinking of how Nicasia had let it slip that Cardan commissioned the dress I wore to Eldred’s abdication (and assassination). It was a thousands times more beautiful than the one I had requested for myself. The dark colors and striking details of the trees made me feel like a true member of the shadowy court I was hoping to join.

“Crystals for stars,” Cardan says quietly beside me, nodding. “I wanted to wrap you in the night sky, drape you in celestial light,” he pauses, hesitating. “It was me trying to reimagine a certain star-gazing lesson that went horribly wrong, leaving you rather exposed.” 

I furrow my brow in confusion before I recall the evening he is referring to. It was a star chart class with Noggle. That was the night that Nicasia slapped me and Valerian force-fed me faerie fruit. At the time it was humiliating. It made me so angry to be brought that low by them all. But now I could nearly laugh at the thought that once my biggest concern was the petty bullying of a group of teenage classmates. I have far greater worries to occupy my time now.

I turn to Cardan to tell him as much but I see he is still hung up on the memory. There’s a crease in his forehead and he’s staring at the water, frowning. I try to lighten the mood, to show him that the altercation is of little consequence to me now.

“Considering recent activities, I would think you enjoyed seeing me exposed,” I say, nudging him teasingly in the shoulder. 

But he shakes his head, “Not like that.” 

That comment brings a strange silence. I sit up straight and notice that his back is tense, his shoulders held tight. I haven’t seen him so drenched in self-loathing since I tied him to a chair and held a crossbow to his throat. Then I made him kiss me. I reach for his hand in the sand and interlace our fingers. I feel his grip tighten. 

After a moment he says, “Sometimes seeing Nicasia reminds me of who I was before. How cruel I could be.”

I did not expect our conversation to take this turn. We both have regrets, some trivial and some tragically significant. We’ve talked over certain misunderstandings, and it helps to communicate in that way. For me, the most meaningful reflection is often found when I think about the future. Our future. But if he’s focused on the past tonight, I might as well highlight the brighter parts of our history as well. “She also told me that you used to free the servants in Hallow Hall,” I say quietly, “the human ones.” 

I watch his face closely. His eyebrows rise and he nods slowly. I take a larger sip from the bottle. Cardan rarely talks about Hallow Hall and his time there. I get the sense that he’s shared all of the relevant bits and wishes to move on from that part of his life. A couple months after the thrones were restored I set The Bomb on a task to find out more about Balekin’s missing human slaves. It turns out that Cardan did in fact return many of them to the human world. He would often blackmail other fae to force them into carrying the mortals back on ragwort steeds or enchanted boats. Cardan didn’t do the heavy lifting but he did organize the extractions and create cover-ups so Balekin wouldn’t notice. 

I smile as I recall listening to The Bomb share this information. In that moment, I felt entirely proud of him. “Why did you do that?” I ask.

“You know why,” he says. And it is not a lie. We sit for a long moment, hands clasped but otherwise not touching. The water in the cove is calm before us, the sky lightening. I decide I will let him break this silence when he’s ready. 

“She was very forthcoming with secrets it seems,” when he speaks, Cardan’s voice has lost the darker undertone and I’m glad. He runs his free hand through his hair and continues with an air of amusement that is only slightly forced, “Under what circumstances did she divulge all this information? Torture?”

“I asked her for help,” I reply simply. Cardan’s head whips around to stare at me and his expression is even more comical than his earlier reaction of surprise. I suppose that’s the real show-stopping revelation: the fact that I willingly went to Nicasia for aid because I could no longer fight alone with my own schemes and cunning. Asking for help has never been one of my strengths, however, I’m learning that it is a necessity for running a realm.

“So the threat of losing me forever unraveled you so completely that you made peace with a sworn enemy?” he reaches up to gently grasp my chin, pulling my lips towards his. I know he’s mocking me in that irksome self-aggrandizing way that he does. Tonight I’m going to let him.

“Anything for you, my King,” his lips stop my words before I can continue with more excessive flattery. Cardan’s hand moves to caress my jaw and for some reason his touch makes my mind wander back to that night when Nicasia marched into the banquet unannounced. An incident took place just before our conversation. At the time, I had to try hard not to react. Now I laugh freely at the memory. Cardan stops trying to stick his tongue in my mouth and leans back with a sigh.

“Tell me,” he pleads with exasperation. “What comic relief have I unwittingly provided?”

“Not you,” I manage to assure him, “Did you know that Kaye from the Unseelie court straight-up punched Nicasia in the face?” saying it out loud only makes me laugh harder. I hear Cardan’s gasp but when I turn to look, a tiny wave leaps out of the sea and splashes my chest. We’re nowhere near the water line and I yell, scrambling to a seated position as the cold shock of the water sparks against my skin. “What the - ?”

A noise from Cardan cuts me off as I note that he is now laughing at me. “That sneaky nixie,” he chuckles, raising the wine bottle in a mock toast to the sea. Just as he takes a sip another wave, this one far larger, rises out of the ocean, magically twists in the air and dumps itself right on top of Cardan’s head. He is absolutely drenched, the silk of his shirt sticking to him like a second skin. His hair is flattened against his scalp, strands in his eyes. He looks comically like a drowned animal. 

Now I’m the one laughing, but carefully shuffling backwards on the sand, away from the water. “Is she listening to us?” 

“Someone surely is,” Cardan shakes his head to swing the hair out of his eyes. Then he wrings out the water from each cuff around his wrist. “Nicasia is as much a part of the sea as we are of the land.” 

Cardan rises to his knees and then slowly stands. Rivulets of water drip down his legs and run along the backs of his calves, now incased in the skin-tight material of his dark trousers. He shakes his arms and water droplets fly out, some scattering on me. I watch as he walks to the shoreline and tips the remaining contents of the wine bottle into the ocean. “Enough,” I hear him say as the offering is taken away with the tide. Cardan sets the empty bottle down and walks back over to me. I can’t help but notice the slight swaggering of his stride. “You’re all wet,” he says in a low voice.

And then he is sitting on the sand beside me, cupping my cheek and kissing me deeply. I feel the salt water slide from his skin to mine. We continue kissing for a long, uninterrupted time. Our fingers roam and I feel his in my hair, slowly combing through the windswept locks. His other hand abandons my cheek and runs down my side, settling on the curve of my hip. My gown is made from the first green leaves of spring, short enough to expose some upper thigh. It’s soft and smooth and bends easily, stretching tightly over my curves but not in a way that is constricting. I was pleased to see Cardan’s eyes widen noticeably when I entered our sitting room this evening. When we finally pause for breath I stretch out on the sand, his arm tucked beneath my head as the sky lightens above us.

“You slept with her,” I say out loud, breaking the silence. I’m not sure what makes me do it. For a moment it feels as if the words walked out of my mouth on their own volition. But in truth I know the thought has been sitting beneath the surface since Nicasia entered our chambers this evening. Cardan’s earlier apprehension at hearing that she had told me things about him only further confirmed my suspicions. Not suspicions; I know the answer. I’ve always known the answer. But we’ve never talked about it and now I need to hear him say it.

“Yes,” he replies neutrally, as though reading my thoughts. He rolls up on his side and traces his fingers over the patterns on my dress. 

I start up at the sky. “Was she your first?” I doubt it but for some sick reason I want more information. 

“Jude,” I hear the first notes of warning in his voice and I still his hand on my stomach. “No,” he confides.

“How many folk have you slept with?” I don’t know if it’s the wine or the rush of the waves but suddenly my heart is beating far too fast and I’m nearly holding my breath as a deep deluge of questions I realize I’ve never asked before suddenly starts rising up inside of me, demanding attention. I need to know more about him. More than she does. I want to know all of his secrets.

“You know I cannot lie,” Cardan sits up fully and leans over me, all playfulness gone. He places a hand beside each of my shoulders and leans down so our eyes meet. “Do not ask me questions to which you do not want the answers.”

He’s right. I know he’s right and I’m being foolish, reckless with him in a way I haven’t been in a long time. We’ve done such a good job of communicating and talking and learning about each other, both verbally and physically, but for some reason I can feel myself regressing into a puerile adolescent. I shut my eyes tight and try to reign in my spiraling mind. I take a deep breath and lean in to the soft pressure of his lips on my cheek, my throat, my brow. Then he rests his forehead at the center of my chest. I bring my hands up to hold him to me, letting the rise and fall of my breath lift and calm.

When the moment passes I nudge him gently and sit up. He seems to know what I need and pulls me to him, bending his legs at the knees and settling me between his thighs, my back against his chest. He rests his chin on my shoulder and I reach back with one arm to interlace our fingers. 

“Who was your first?” I ask this time. I feel his heavy sigh behind me and he leans back a bit, settling his weight on his hands behind him and looking skyward.

“Not Nicasia, as I said,” he repeats.

“I believe you,” I say quietly. “I just want to know.” And now I want to know because I want to know _him_. It’s not about secrets or who knows more; it’s about what we share with each other. I want to have a clearer picture of everything that made him into the man I love today. I’m certain that nothing he tells me could change that.

After a pause I hear him mumble something. “What was that?”

“I don’t remember,” he finally repeats. I turn to face him properly and see that he has dramatically draped an arm over his face.

“You don’t remember the first time you had sex?” I ask just to clarify. Has he really engaged in the act so many times that all past experiences are one big blur? Am I a blur?

“I speak only truth,” his voice holds false bravado and he still has his face covered. 

I turn around fully and rise up on my knees, still sandwiched between his legs. “How is that possible?”

“I was very drunk,” he groans, “At least a dozen folk were there. I don’t remember who was…first.” An orgy. Cardan’s first sexual experience was an orgy. Why, after all I know and all I’ve seen, does this shock me?

“Close your mouth, Jude, it’s unbecoming,” he admonishes with little humor. There’s a snarky quip I could make to that but my tongue is currently frozen. Images race through my mind of dancing courtiers, see-through gowns, nymphs coupling under tables and in corners, showing too many limbs for two folk. My mind flashes to the night I found Cardan shot in his chambers during a gathering of gentry. Was that the beginning of another group sex party? I’m about to ask a follow-up question when he catches me off guard with - 

“You and Locke?” his voice is quiet and he’s uncovered his face now.

“Never!” I answer quickly. Even if there had been a (very small amount of) time when I may have thought I wanted that, I know myself well enough to know I never would have gone through with it. Locke was never worth it, not even at the beginning.

“He bragged about something, once,” Cardan tells me with ire in his voice, “although he claimed he couldn’t remember if it was with you or your sister.”

I make a noise of disgust. I’m glad, not for the first time, that Taryn killed him. Upon reflection though, I’m a little irritated that Cardan could even think such a thing.

“You knew I was a virgin,” I remind him. As if anything had ever been more obvious. As soon as I speak the words I feel my defenses rise and I brace for impact. I don’t regret my choice to be vulnerable that night, not for a second. But that doesn’t mean I enjoy the feeling. If Cardan comes back with some sarcastic retort I swear I will – 

“And you knew what you wanted,” he states, fixing me with his gaze. And with those words he turns my moment of vulnerability into a form of self-empowerment. I feel myself relax, defenses lowering as another piece of the armor falls. His face softens into a smile. After a beat, I join him, grinning widely. 

“I did and I do,” As an afterthought, I add, “Perhaps I want to give orgies a try, too.”

Something flashes through his eyes and I watch him swallow. “Perhaps…” he finally manages to speak. There’s a mischievous part of me that wants to see the images he must have just conjured in his mind. We’ve steadily gotten more creative with our sexual activities. It’s exciting to think there will always be more to explore.

I resettle between Cardan’s knees and he folds me back against his chest. After a few moments, during which I’m sure our minds are running in wildly in different directions, Cardan tells me, “When you were missing, I used to walk up to the cliffs and stare down at the sea, looking for you.” 

I chew over this in my head. I can’t decide if it makes me feel sad or not. The image of Cardan sitting alone on top of the windy cliffs, is not exactly uplifting. However, knowing that he was looking for me, working to have me released, is comforting. While my time as a hostage was wretched and I have no interest in reliving that experience, it’s also true that it was a significant event in the development of our relationship. He sacrificed to save me when he could have left me to drown. His actions were the first sign of his true feelings for me that I cold not ignore, no matter how hard I tried at the time.

“You know,” I begin slowly, “I don’t think I’ve gone back in the ocean since my unplanned sojourn to the Undersea court.” I hadn’t thought about it, but its true. The sound of waves used to torment me, though that feeling has lessened enough that I can sit on this beach. I prickle at the idea that fear has kept me out of the water.

“Does it make you uncomfortable?” Cardan asks. “We can cancel the visit and bring the Undersea court to land.”

I shake my head. “I want to go. I think it’s time to make some new memories of that place,” I add, “although I may have forgotten how to swim.” I stretch my neck back to look up at him, watching to see how he takes that comment. 

Cardan shifts me forward and stands, walking to the edge of the shore to look out at the sea. The sun is peaking over the horizon now, a glowing sphere of light burning away the darkness. From my position on the ground, his shape is backlit and I can only see his silhouette, hair blowing slightly in the breeze. He is breathtaking, magical and unearthly. He turns and offers a hand to pull me up. Without hesitating, I take it.

“I happen to be a highly capable swimming instructor,” he says and leads me to the shoreline. When a small wave reaches out to touch my toes I am surprised that the water is not cold at all, just refreshing. Cardan lets go of my hand and pulls his shirt overhead. “It’s best not to hinder one’s mobility with clothing,” he explains and then peels off his wet trousers, kicking them back onto the beach and coming to stand beside me, butt naked. “Is that dress of yours going to disintegrate if it gets wet?”

I shrug, catching his tone. “Best not to find out,” I say and reach up to pull the thin straps past my shoulders so I can slide the whole garment down my hips and step free of it, along with my underwear. I hear Cardan’s breath hitch beside me. I’m not wearing a bra. The dress was tight enough to provide its own support. 

I feel him watching me as I take one step, then another into the gentle surf. I walk in until the water is up to my waist, my feet sinking into the soft sand below. Cardan comes up behind me, wrapping his arms around my middle and pulling me flush against him. Out of the corner of my eye I see that his tail is stretched as high above the water as possible, the tuft bent and turning like a peculiar periscope. I guess his tail does not like getting wet.

We take a few more steps forward together, slowly. The land falls away below us and the water rises to my neck. Cardan, taller than me, still has sure footing. He moves so he is now in front of me, his hands secure on my hips. “Ready?” he asks. I nod and take a deep breath. He pulls me tight against him and lifts me slightly before submerging us both underwater. 

All sounds from the surface are blocked out and my eyes open to the green and grey world under the sea. I feel Cardan’s sure hands holding me, keeping me safe and letting my body rock gently with the current. I don’t know if it’s the feeling of remembering an old sensation or if it has something to do with my developing magic as Queen of Faerie but I swear the water feels different. I am aware of each individual particle as it rolls over my skin. I can see much more clearly than mortal eyes allow. All the layers in the ocean – the salinity, the tiny nearly invisible plant life, the reflections from the sky – are all presented before me with striking clarity. 

I also suspect my lungs have adapted. We stay under far longer than I recall being able to hold my breath. Cardan seems to know when it’s time and plants his feet on the ground to lift us above the surface. I toss my head back and breathe in the delicious morning air. A small laugh escapes me as I wipe loose strands of hair out of my eyes. When I look forward again, Cardan is watching me, still holding me. “Again?” he asks. I nod. 

This time we hold hands, arms outstretched and go under with our backs turned to the sky. I kick my legs freely and enjoy the feeling of weightlessness and a new sense of power. Tiny bubbles escape from Cardan’s nose and I pull him closer to me to peck his cheek with my lips. It should be impossible but his skin feels even smoother than it does in air. His hair rises above his head like the dark halo I’ve imagined so many times, looking ever more luscious as it ripples. I let go of one of his hands to run my fingers through his locks. He closes his eyes and then drags me back up again, locking his lips to mine the second we break the surface.

We do this several more times, submerging and them resurfacing. Each time we go under I rely on him less and less for support until I’m able to dive beneath the waves independently. Each period of resurfacing gets longer as we always seem to reconnect for one, two, or ten long minutes of kissing while the waves rock us. Finally, Cardan returns to his role as swim instructor. 

“Now the important thing to remember about swimming is that it requires rhythm,” he lectures and I raise me eyebrows, “each breath must be perfectly in sync with the movements of the body.”

“Whose breath, yours or mine?” I ask with a smirk.

He gives me a wicked grin and splashes some water in my direction. “There will be time for questions later. Now, it’s highly important to fully engage the leg muscles, as well as the core. For example, Jude, point your toes to the sky and move them as far apart as they will go.” That he manages to deliver this line without once breaking face is something to applaud.

“If I recall correctly, there was some kicking involved,” I say and splash him lightly with a flip of my foot. Then I spread my legs as he requested. It takes some effort to hold my body in this suspended position, but I find it’s a pleasant strain on my muscles.

“Kicking is for amateurs,” he scoffs and comes to settle between my thighs. I hook my knees over his hips. “There are far more advanced strokes we can practice.” He doesn’t waste time. I feel his fingers slip inside me easily as his other hand holds me just above my hip. I make a noise and arch my back, letting my top half fall back on the water. I don’t know how we manage to stay afloat like this; we’re too far out for Cardan’s feet to be touching the ground. Whether it’s magic or some other force, it works and he keeps tracing delicious circles on highly sensitive parts of me until I’m writhing and I can’t wait.

I clutch his wrist between us, pull his hand away from me and reach down to guide his cock inside me. The weightlessness of the water and the liquid warmth surrounding us makes every part of me more alive to his touch. The water carries us slowly around the small cove. We thrust and rise on small waves that lap and recede. His hips and the buoyancy push me up before gravity brings me back down in a way that feels really fucking good. He keeps one set of fingers between us, always on my clit, never not touching me. When I lean forward to kiss him I can taste the salt-water spray on the skin of his neck, a new flavor. 

The water moves with us, or we move with the water –slowly up, slowly down, rocking blissfully. We’re lose and languid but all the right parts are tight and firm. In small moments of lucidity I wonder what it will be like, to orgasm here in the ocean without anything anchoring me except Cardan’s body wrapped around my own. 

I find out when he somehow finds a way to be deeper inside me, changing the angle and hitting a spot in such a perfectly pleasing way that I cry out and latch onto him, wrapping my arms tightly around his neck. I don’t care if we both drown here just as long as he keeps doing that.

We don’t drown. Instead, we wash up on the beach like two drunken marooned sailors. Well, naked sailors. Satiated sailors. Sailors that can’t be bothered to move for quite some time. The sand is warm from the sun, Cardan’s hand is in mine and once my breath is steady, I find the hum of the ocean peaceful instead of distressing. 

Minutes or hours later, I finally open my eyes to see Cardan gazing back at me. He smiles and I watch drops of water drip one by one off his eyelashes. I reach out a hand and run it down his side until my fingers stop on a strange hairy texture. 

“Oh no, your tail got wet,” I sit up and gingerly cup the saturated tuft in one hand, squeezing gently to wring the water out. Cardan’s whole body goes rigid and he sucks in a breath. The gasp turns into a near whimper when I comb my finger through the strands of hair, fixing them so they fall properly into the original teardrop shape. This seems to be more than Cardan can bear and the tail whips out of my hand, tucking itself flat against his back, the drying tuft resting above his shoulder. He mutters something that sounds like “sensitive.” I make a mental note to explore this sensitivity again at a later time.

“Well, coach,” I say, gesturing grandly to sea. “That was a great first lesson. It was a good choice to lead with skinny dipping.” 

“I don’t know what skinny dipping is,” he says, stressing the syllables incorrectly. “But the thing about swimming,” he continues, “is that you really need consistent practice, to build up stamina.”

I nod thoughtfully, “Stamina, huh? So, same time tomorrow?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay healthy and safe everyone!


End file.
